Muted Discourse
by AnonM1ss
Summary: A tale about a young woman's coming of age and the change of feelings her guardian experiences as he watches her grow (Ch. 11 up)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

It was quite an elaborate ceremony, actually. What the others didn't know was that she took most of the late afternoon setting the whole thing up. The thought-up conversations, the cleaned cups and perfect tea; all were put together in an intricate process that seemed to come carelessly and easily to Misao. The routine never tired her—she always made up for it with her imagination. It was always "one day, we'll tell each other…" or "I'll finally get the courage to say…" but to no avail. Misao seemed content to sit passively by his side and inhale the scent of tea and _him. _

A year had passed since they had visited the Himuras—no; more like a year and a half. Misao had managed to make time for him and he, in his own way, for her, but their conversation never went beyond the level of greeting or verbal necessities. Still, Misao had been innocently content with her limitations, and had taken whatever he said with unfaltering trust and love. That is, until Misao came back from a visit to the Kaoru's dojo. 

The trip seemed harmless in itself: Misao was to spend a month in spring helping Kaoru deliver the baby comfortably, and enjoy her visit at Tokyo while helping the Himuras run the household. Misao could barely contain her happiness, and for the next two weeks before her arranged departure, spread the sparkling mist of happiness and excitement all over the Aoiya. Forgotten were her training sessions with Aoshi-sama, forgotten were her chores in the inn—Misao could only think of the upcoming visit. There was one thing Misao could never forget to do; however, and that was to perform the tea ceremony with _him_ every late afternoon.

The musty incense brought a mildly soporific effect to the solemn young man sitting stoically in the weakly lighted temple. He inhaled deeply, taking in a rush of pine, ginger, and several other unknown spices. _She is late today, he thought mildly, the thoughts of inner peace and turmoil far from his mind as he focused his energy on something else, a certain someone, _perhaps she has forgotten_?_

No. She would never forget. Aoshi knew this fact as well as he knew the feel of his kodachi. As well as he knew _her_. He knew her out of habit, then out of necessity—out of love. He knew when to count his blessings, and in his case, they all came packaged in the form of a petite, vivacious onmitsu girl. He couldn't see when it had started, this love for her. He assumed it came to him the year she had turned thirteen—the year of small pox.

He had left her when she was but five or six years old. He remembered stealing away in the night, feeling mildly guilty for not having said farewell to his former okashira's granddaughter. Not a thought of her flitted through his mind for the next few years; indeed, he was too busy dealing with the temporary jobs and tasks he threw his men and himself into. But a chance letter fell into his hands from one of the local Oniwabanshuu mail stations five winters ago. It had come from Okina-san, and it was written in haste and desperation. Its contents were short and hurried; it was written in the manner of these few words:

_Okashira__-san, _

_ I hope you and your men are well. There is trouble at home. Small pox has struck the town, and several of our men are stricken by the disease. Misao-chan has taken a severe blow, and she is currently confined to rest, since she has taken the strongest hit from the sickness and is now delirious with fever. Please come back and bring the remedy for the illness for our men, as well as for the town, since the doctors have long run out of medicine. Make haste, the doctors have ordered more medicine, but it may take weeks, and our men need immediate attention. _

_ Godspeed,_

_ Okina_

Aoshi remembered reading the letter with growing dread, and then abandoning his task at hand to rush home and save his men. He and the others had arrived in silence, fearing the silence of death. To his relief, they had not lost one man when they arrived at the Aoiya, but Misao was in grave danger. She had not eaten for the last four days, and was pitifully wracked with fever. He had sat by her side after he made sure none of the other men were in immediate   
danger, fed or forced down the medicine when necessary, and held her hand throughout the night. After keeping most of the night in vigil, he fell asleep by her side, exhausted and worried. The next three days passed at a rapid pace—there were the townsmen to give medicine to, his men to attend to, and Misao to watch over. He would watch Misao sleep fitfully, call his name out in pain, and battle against the monsters of her sleep in utter solitude. There were rare moments of clarity in which Misao could talk coherently, but she didn't seem to recognize him, and would always insist on seeing "her Aoshi-sama", even when he insisted that he was right by her side. Those few days impacted Aoshi in a manner he couldn't comprehend. His heart lurched whenever she had nightmares, and her cries for him stirred feelings he never knew were there. Remorse for having left her, and sorrow for her pains as he watched the disease storming inside of her. 

On the fourth day, Misao woke up quietly to see a large man sleeping by her bedside. His somber features revealed tension that could not be loosened even in sleep, and Misao could but wonder who the stranger was. On closer inspection, Misao thought, Could it be him?", but childishly thrust aside the thought. His hair was too short, and he was way too big to be her idol. With the endearing bravery that often comes gratuitously with childhood, Misao leaned over her bed and began to smooth the stranger's unruly hair. At her touch, the man immediately awoke, and Misao jerked her hand back, blushing at the boldness of her hand and blurted out, "Jiya should've gotten you a bed. Didn't you ask for one?" 

The man looked calmly at her before asking in return, "How would it concern you if you were unconscious for a week, and didn't know who I am?"   
            Misao gave him a toothy grin that boldly said I-couldn't-care-less-as-to-what-you-think and replied winningly, "You caught me there; I don't care much. But I am curious as to how you got by my bedside. Are you the doctor?" 

Aoshi looked at her when an amusing thought passing through his mind: how very like Makimachi-san Misao is. I wonder if her physical speed can match her rapid wit. He shook his head slightly, "No, I am not." 

Misao inched forward, scrutinizing his countenance before musing aloud, "Odd, you do seem familiar. Have I seen you  
before?"

Aoshi nodded, "I used to change your diapers." And with that, he left the room, leaving a half-mortified, half-doubting Misao behind.   
Aoshi-sama?!?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Aoshi left the next day. Misao was confined to her futon for the next day so she could recover, thus leaving her without a chance to bid farewell to her beloved Aoshi-sama. Misao was distraught—it had been so many years since she had last seen him! It seemed cruel to be offered only a glimpse of her idol and savior, only to have him taken away from her in the end. Many wet sobs and bitter thoughts enveloped her that night, only for her to find that her hope and cheerfulness were revived through the discovery of a gift left inside her bedside slippers. 

"Kunai," she breathed giddily, "he gave me a set of _real_ kunai! Sugoi!" Conveniently forgetting that she was ordered to stay in bed for another day, Misao trotted off to the dojo to try out her new present.

As his men rode in silence, Aoshi fingered a kunai he kept hidden in his coat's pocket; the set came in numbers of ten, but Aoshi took one of them as a keepsake of Misao. It was true that he had left without seeing her another time, but he was sure that his gift would console her. What he didn't consider was that he had left a part of his heart behind along with the kunai. 

He heard the sounds of her footsteps from across the yard. They were heavy and well paced; the additional weight of the tea tray made Misao's light amble more solid and steady. The crunching of grass and gravel as well as the clinking of tea accessories personalized the actions of the incoming young woman, and they were all that he needed to erase his earlier doubts.

            The door opened suddenly. Misao didn't knock on her first tea visit, and she wasn't going to start now. A swirl of brilliant colors temporarily blinded Aoshi. The vibrant green of the grass and shrubs, the light bark of the trees, and the indigo of her onmitsu uniform seeped into Aoshi's mind as he blinked owlishly. It was always like that—her arrival brought light and a blazing energy that never failed to surprise him.

            Misao's head was bent as she leaned over to take her shoes off, and as she straightened herself up to face him, he saw a flash of white. Aoshi began to wonder why she was so silent: surely she would have already greeted him and mentioned her upcoming visit to Tokyo in the next instant. Taking a set of white papers from the firm grip of her lips, Misao simply said, "Here." He recognized the seals on the papers and let his gaze follow her white fingers that were clamped onto the papers, then lifted his eyes up the length of her arm to her open, eager and expectant face, and immediately grasped what she was offering. These were Oniwabanshuu file papers that only the Okashira was entitled to see. He looked at her apprehensively: was he devoted enough to try again? He closed his eyes wearily; he had meditated in the temple for nearly two years already, with no answers in sight and had obtained less peace of mind than blankness and aversion to the past. Perhaps his happiness and peace lay not in quiet and solitary atonement, but with others. He opened his eyes and looked upon Misao's countenance. Despite her thin, pursed lips and the slight tremble of her extended arm, her eyes shone effulgently. The faith and love she had in him blazed clearer than any other message her body could give. 

            He was insecure no longer; he had a purpose and the love and consideration of others to support him. He reached out without hesitation and took the papers from her with a firm hand and an equally firm expression. The smile she rewarded him with for his decision nearly took his breath away. It was not on account of its intensity, or its usual cheerful sauciness, but because of its gentle pride. He had never lacked respect from others; sometimes, he was even the subject of fear. But never since the days he had spent with his fallen comrades had he seen an expression of such strong pride in him, although the face of its bearer was tender. 

            The swift purposefulness of her hands broke the spell her smile had cast unwittingly cast on him. She had her head bowed down, her concentration centered on the pouring of tea. After handing a cup respectfully to her Okashira, Misao sat back on her heels and sipped her own tea quietly. The silence was agreeable—no words were necessary for the two to appreciate each other's company, and each was wrapped up in his or her own thoughts at the moment. 

            Misao applauded her courage. She had always seen her position as temporary, and expected Aoshi-sama to take it from her once he had returned. When he hadn't, she puzzled over the matter for as long as she spent time doing the actual paperwork. She had vaguely concluded he wouldn't claim his leadership again because he was unsure of his self and felt guilt for having once led his companions astray, but she couldn't be sure; analyzing Aoshi-sama was no small task.

            Aoshi was held the cup up to his mouth and kept hold of the papers under the pretense of reading them, but he was really examining the marks Misao had left on the paper with her lips and teeth. The slight moisture on the paper and the indent of her small teeth left him slightly amused and also slightly puzzled. He knew she had carried the papers with her in such an informal matter because she was impatient to have her tea and couldn't be bothered with another trip back to the Aoiya. What he couldn't understand was how a simple sign she had left behind on the paper could make him feel so uncertain around her—really, it was often the other way around.

            "Aoshi…sama?" Oh no… it was really only a small lapse; a second in time, but had she really almost referred to him with familiarity? Such audacity! She blushed at the thought, before plowing onward. "A-ano, Aoshi-sama, I'll be leaving tomorrow, so I'll have to tell you which cases are the most recent, and which of the addressed men are still within contact. Will you come by the office tomorrow to let me give you the files?" _And say goodbye?_, her mind added immediately. 

            "Yes."

            Misao smiled again as she gathered the cups and accessories and put the on the tray, "Arigatou, Aoshi-sama! I'll see you at dinner!" With that, she firmly grasped the tray with both hands, lifted it with painstaking care, and left the temple, her braid swishing rhythmically to the pace of her steps. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

            From the tinted windows of the Aoiya, the sky was a swirl of gray and purple. There were threatening signs of rain pour overhead, and the air held the familiar morning smell of dewy grasses and damp leaves. A noble oak grandfather clock chimed six times. Its modern clang of western bells clashed with the traditional paintings and sliding doors of the Aoiya. Misao waited nervously in the hallway. The train to Tokyo would leave in an hour, and Misao wanted to make sure that she would have time to speak to Aoshi-sama and catch her train in time, as well. She slid slowly against the wall; the cold feel of it rubbing against her back as she nervously coiled a stray strand of hair around with her finger. The soft sliding of a door alerted Misao of her okashira's emergence. She turned expectantly, all smiles until she took one look at him. He looked…so rough. _For the lack of a better word_, Misao thought, as she blushed crimson and took in his appearance swiftly: tousled, wet, jagged hair, loose shirt, bare feet… Misao wanted to run away—she couldn't talk to him with a straight face, with him looking so…desirable. Misao steeled her resolve; however, and subdued her flurry of emotions in a matter of seconds, thus managing to save her from an embarrassing situation before Aoshi was even aware that it had taken place.

            "Ohayo, Aoshi-sama!"

            "…Ohayo, Misao."

            Misao bit her lip, took a set of files from inside her cloak, and handed it over to him. She didn't want her farewell to end so… tonelessly. But as long as she had a chance to say goodbye, she wouldn't complain, "Here, these are all the recent cases Jiya and I had considered worthwhile…" and she fumbled with her cloak once more to get a smaller folder of papers, nearly knocking the previous set of papers out of Aoshi's hands as she clumsily handed them over, "and these are the men whom are connected to these cases in relevant ways, and of whom we still have data on." Aoshi took one look at the papers, thrust them inside his shirt and gave her a piercing look. Under his unrelenting gaze, Misao felt like she was going to squirm to death—why did she feel so vulnerable near him, and yet so compellingly absorbed at the same time? What was he looking for? All she had offered was purely business.

            Aoshi had woken up feeling restless, and had decided to do some early morning training to rid his mind of troubling thoughts—thoughts that focused on a certain young woman who was leaving that very morning. He knew that Misao's trip to Tokyo would most probably be as safe and harmless as she herself professed it to be, since she would be under the careful watch of Himura. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel some unease with letting Misao go alone. Why was it that he still couldn't let Misao go—that he still considered her his precious child, even at her current age of seventeen? 

            She was watching him guardedly. Probably waiting for him to say something, some departing words. Didn't she know already that he wasn't one for flowery prose? He would wait for her to gather her wits and admire the view in the meanwhile. Misao was wearing a traditional kimono and hakama for easy travel that had fine purple blossoms stitched onto the midnight fabric. Her hair, probably done for ease and practical purposes, was tied loosely into a low ponytail, leaving some unruly locks to frame her slender face. He noted that she held herself as a woman: she had her chin held up slightly and one arm secured delicately by the elbow by her other hand. He knew that he didn't think of her as a child—she had been haunting his sleep too long for him to indulge himself in that particular lie any longer. Where was his worry coming from, then? She wished him good morning, and handed him some papers in her nervous, endearing way. He took a quick glance at the papers and noticed the way she had carefully organized the papers and how she had written with clear penmanship. Her observations were very shrewd, and the solutions she had suggested were ingenious. _I should definitely stop underestimating her_, he contemplated thoughtfully as he tucked the papers into his shirt, _I__ have taken too long to accept her for what she is_. He saw her fidget under his scrutiny, observing her amusedly as she tried to take control of her situation, and watching her grow rosier by the minute. _But it's not too late to start now_.

            Misao surprised him and herself when she thrust her hand out to him. They both were familiar with the western gesture by shadowing if not by experience—what was surprising was that this entirely business-like gesture came from Misao. Aoshi seemed to be dumbstruck for the first time in years. Misao watched him apprehensively and almost sighed with relief when he tentatively took her hand. 

            "A-Aoshi-sama, this is my farewell." Her voice rang out wavering yet clear. _Mou, how utterly stupid I sound! _Misao thought, frustrated at herself for a moment. Then she put her other hand on top of his and covered it the best she could, gazed up into his eyes with an elfin smile, and gently shook his hand.

            For once, it seemed like he too was going to smile—his eyes were glimmering brightly, with no hard look to ward her off. Indeed, Misao could see that he was at least humored, but smile he would not—he was quite a stubborn man. _Well, I've always enjoyed a challenge_, Misao reasoned genially as she removed her hand from his, letting him hold her other in silence, "I leave the Aoiya in good hands."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

            Upon her arrival Misao felt sleepy and dazed. _Misao no baka! _She admonished herself, _you shouldn't have stayed up so late thinking about how you were going to say goodbye to Aoshi-sama! _She was quite hungry, as her stomach constantly and embarrassingly reminded her every minute it could. She couldn't wait for a proper meal—unless Kaoru was the one who prepared it.

            "Misao-chan! Over here!" Misao cocked her head to her right and saw a sight that brought tears to her eyes: Kenshin, who was holding a temperamental Kenji, with a very pregnant Kaoru by his side. Farther off was a tall and scruffy Yahiko with Tsubame-chan, who had blossomed gracefully over the years. Misao dropped her bag sloppily and run towards Kaoru, her smile curving up and threatening to fill her entire face, "Kaorruuuuu!!!! It's been so long! When are you expecting?" Stopping short in front of Kaoru, Misao gleamed at her with tears in her eyes. The choking hug Kaoru expected never came—instead, Misao gave her a soft and awkward embrace, "Sorry, I don't want to throttle your child, ne Kaoru?"

 Kaoru smiled warmly, "So, it was only for the sake of my child that you didn't suffocate me with one of your trademark bear hugs, eh? I see how it is… I'm always a mother before anything else. First Kenji, then Kenshin and Yahiko-chan, and now you! Mou, I'll never be allowed to do anything before I deliver the baby except sit around and eat!" Misao was helpless with laughter as she pictured Yahiko and Kenshin fussing around Kaoru, the reigning queen of the pillows. Kaoru paid no attention to Misao's humor at her expense, taking her time to inspect Misao as she continued laughing with mirth. 

"Misao-chan, you're actually wearing something other than your onmitsu uniform? Finally! It seems like Okon and Omasu knocked some decency and etiquette into your head! You look very pretty in this kimono; it suits you well."

 Under Kaoru's mild scolding, Misao had begun to protest, only to give in to more giggles when Yahiko interrupted Kaoru rudely, "Well, you can hold your petty comments, because the itachi-onna looks better than you, busu!" Kaoru glared at him, but made no move to throttle him, since she was way too far into pregnancy to exert herself physically and chase him. Instead, she calmly took off her geta slipper and chucked it at Yahiko, hitting him square on the forehead. 

Misao held back a worried Tsubame-chan as the fighting intensified between the two, shaking her head gently, "You should know by now not to get involved in their little squabbles; you could get hurt."

"Maa, maa, Kaoru," Kenshin reproached gently, grasping his wife's waist so he could keep her and Yahiko from killing each other, "Misao has just arrived! She must be very tired…" and, as if on cue, Misao's stomach growled noisily, "…and very hungry." 

Laughter rang through the air as Misao blushed becomingly, thinking, "It really is good to see all of them again…"

"See, after every rainfall, there's always a rainbow that shines across the sky!" 

Kenji looked at the sky in awe as he fingered Misao's hair, chewing on it and taking in her wildflower scent with boyish glee, "Misao-oneechan knows so much! She's much smarter than Otousan!" Misao laughed triumphantly as she saw Kenshin cringe from behind his load of laundry, "And is Misao-oneechan prettier than your Okaasan?" Kenji deliberated on the question for a second, and then traitorously chirped, "Hai! Right now Okaasan is too fat!" 

With that last comment, Misao nearly choked on her tea. She put down her teacup as she sputtered, "Kenji, do you know why your Okaasan is so round?" She looked into Kenji's round, innocent eyes and sighed with collective longing and affection: _I want one of these_…

Kenji nodded seriously as he twirled Misao's hair around with his chubby little fingers, "Okaasan is going to have another baby, a little brother or sister! Then I'll have another playmate and someone to bug Otousan with. His angelic earnestness changed into an expression of delighted devilment as he thought up all of the pranks he and his little sibling could pull on his father. "Playmate, eh? More like partner in crime," Misao thought as she watched this flight of countenance with amusement: she could just hear what Kenji's father would say in response to this: "Orororo…"

"Oro," muttered Kenshin as he lifted up a particularly soiled shirt Kenji had spoiled during playtime, "something has to be done with Kenji." He peeked over the piles of clothes to see Misao holding his son and pointing to the rainbow that illuminated the sky. A mild sprinkle of rain had passed an hour ago, and the yard felt fresh with the added moisture, making it a pleasant place to spend the afternoon. Misao had been with them for three days, and her added company brought much solace to the slightly disgruntled Kaoru and her household. Kenshin smiled slightly as he watched Kenji chew contentedly on Misao's hair, "I guess I'll have to heat the bath water for her this evening as well…"

Misao had brought fresh gaiety and much needed order to the slightly gloomy household. Kaoru tended to feel irritable with her helplessness towards the last months of her pregnancy, and a little comfort and discreet deliberation brought much more positive effects to the household. Kenji was much better behaved these days, since Misao took great pains to make him respect his father and treat others with consideration. She had also probably cued Yahiko in on Kaoru's "delicate" situation as well, since Yahiko tried to hold his tongue for a while, and had even offered to help out more often. The change the young onmitsu brought about surprised even Kenshin—sometimes he couldn't see where the rowdy energetic teenager had gone, and when she had been replaced with this responsible, loving woman. He could only place his reasons on Aoshi: Misao, with her love for him, had adjusted herself to suit his more reserved and cautious ways, thus trimming all unnecessary fancies and irregularities. She had improved upon her disposition, yet kept her spirit constant and true to herself—in short; she had matured into a lovely woman. Kenshin mildly wondered if Aoshi himself had seen the change—if not, he wouldn't be able to resist for long.

The slight man watched as his son and friend giggled over a joke and flinched when he heard Kenji utter his name, sighing, "I don't even want to know what they were laughing about." Yet he continued to watch the two nestle together merrily, observing mildly that Misao would make a fine mother, indeed. 

Aoshi gazed at the upcoming storm clouds with a slightly troubled look. He had spent the afternoon wafting in paperwork and absently playing with a small kunai all the while. As he ran his finger along the smooth face of the blade, Aoshi mildly wondered how Misao was doing at the Himuras'. He shifted his attention from his business and concentrated on the small knife and its unknowing owner and stood up suddenly. Aoshi gripped the kunai in his enclosed hand and concluded, "It is time for me to give her the last one…" With that, he opened a small cabinet drawer by his side and took out a silky azure handkerchief. Placing the knife inside, he folded it carefully and hid it in the drawer with a promise to the woman he had grown to love. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

            Swollen ankles and back pains were currently the blights of Kaoru's otherwise comfortable life. Kenshin, Yahiko and Kenji were either training or running errands, and Kaoru was trying to heat a washbasin of water to soak her feet in. "I hate the last months of pregnancy," grumbled Kaoru to herself, "I feel like a bumbling fool who's good for nothing." 

Abrupt knocking on her room's wall interrupted Kaoru's thoughts as she heard Misao's voice resonating softly from the hallway, "Kaoru, can I come in?"

Kaoru couldn't help but grin when she thought of the changes Misao had experienced over the last few years—she was quite a responsible adult these days—she didn't know what she would've done without Misao helping her out now. "Aa, Misao," she affirmed firmly, "I would love to have you keep me company." The door slid open as Misao slipped in soundlessly. When she first looked at Kaoru with her kimono skirt pulled up to her knees and her feet set in the basin, she started to laugh heartily. "Hmmm," observed Kaoru, "she still kept her child-like cheer and humor; however, even after all this time." Then Kaoru gave her a mock glare with humor clearly glistening in her eyes, "What's so funny, Misao-chan?" 

Misao stopped laughing to gasp, "Yo-you're soaking…feet!" She stopped shortly to giggle some more, but she made the mistake of trying to breath through her nose at the same time, and her laughter came out in the form of an undignified snort that sent Kaoru on her own laughing spree. When Misao and Kaoru had returned to some degree of composure, Misao said as gripped her aching sides,  "You looked like an old woman! The only person who I know of that soaks his feet is Jiya, and that's because he's ancient!" The vision of an old Kaoru hunching over and rinsing her wrinkly feet like Jiya had sent Misao over the edge with merriment.

Kaoru stuck her tongue out at Misao and retorted, "Well, just wait until you're pregnant—then you'll see how hot water works miracles on swollen limbs." 

Misao's eyes sparkled mischievously as she answered innocently, "Yes, we'll see…"

Kaoru held her tongue before she could blurt out anything about Aoshi—after all, she wasn't sure how sensitive the topic was with Misao currently. Surprisingly, Misao herself didn't seem to feel any turbulent emotions—she wasn't moping or whining about Aoshi, nor was she triumphant and infatuated. Kaoru could almost call her countenance one of calm expectation, even. Kaoru's relief and pride threatened to overwhelm her as she looked at her surrogate little sister and close friend with comprehending eyes—this was how she felt soon before Kenshin had asked her for her hand in marriage. Aoshi would come around and tell Misao, and she hoped that when it happened, she would be invited for the wedding.

"Mou, Kaoru! Why are you staring at me like that? Do I have something smeared all over my face? Did your devil of a son Kenji mess up my pretty face?" 

Kaoru laughed lightheartedly as she shook her head, "No, your pretty face is perfectly intact—it's just that I was thinking how well we've all grown over the years." Then Kaoru paused and added with emphasis, "No, actually, I've been thinking how well you've grown these last few years." Misao glowed with pleasure as she took Kaoru's hand impulsively and started to pat it gently. Kaoru's great heart had taken her in among all of the other lost people she had nested, and she was glad she had such a woman as her friend. After all, the famous Himura Kenshin Battousai wouldn't choose just any woman as his cherished soulmate: she had to have a spirit as strong and encompassing as his own.  

Kaoru lifted her legs out of the basin as Misao rushed over to help her, "Here, let me take the washbasin away, you stay here and rest."

 Kaoru smiled as she watched Misao heave the washbasin, sloshing water all over her kimono on the way out. Then she felt a familiar pressure on her abdomen and a flush of water broke out. "Oh no…" thought Kaoru as she quickly thrust the towel between her legs, "It's already started." She shook her head to clear it and hollered, "Misao! I need Genzai-sensei now!"

The child came quickly after a relatively easy labor period. Misao tiredly gathered bundles of bloody towels off Kaoru's bed and decided to do the laundry for Kenshin tomorrow morning. Misao passed by the backyard door on her way back from the laundry room in the back of the dojo and paused to look up at the moon. It was a clear night with an enormous pale moon and a sky embellished with stars. Misao sighed contentedly as she slicked back a sweaty strand of hair. "So much for a bath," mused Misao as she tossed her braid over her shoulder, "I'll worry about all the work and errands tomorrow—we all deserve to rest peacefully tonight." She stopped at the dark doorway of Kenshin and Kaoru's bedroom. Genzai-sensei had left shortly, worn out but very pleased; the child was healthy and Kaoru had delivered with relative ease. Misao looked into the door and saw that Kenshin had slipped into the bed with Kaoru and the new baby after having checked on a sleeping Kenji. "A girl," thought Misao, pleased to have another of her kind join their numbers, "a beautiful black-haired, violet-eyed girl with a strong pair of lungs." Misao chuckled to herself, "Like mother, like daughter..." and softly slid the door closed with the picture of husband, wife and daughter curled up in peaceful, sheltered sleep engraved in her memory.


	6. Chapter 6

Muted Discourse Ch. 6a (reflection)

            Misao couldn't have been more delighted. After having sent the news to Kyoto and trained with Yahiko in the dojo all morning, she was taking a deliciously steaming bath. The morning had been relatively quiet, since Kenshin had left Kaoru and the children in bed early and had gone to talk to Genzai-sensei for particulars on Kaoru and the child's health. Yahiko had gone to the Akabeko to tell Tsubame about the news and flirt with her in his own odd, gruff manner, so Misao had the morning to herself for the first time in many days. The water gently rippled around her still body as she soaked languidly in the bath. Kaoru-san would soon awaken, and Misao knew that she would have to go out and make breakfast soon, but decided to cling to the comfort and silence of water a few moments longer. Ironic—a few years ago, she couldn't bear silence, but now she welcomed it with open arms, wishing to sink into its comforting folds and rest in its golden warmth. Misao knew that she wouldn't be able to stay from her Okashira for long; she realized now that she couldn't see her kunai without feeling empty, couldn't face diapers without memories, couldn't sleep in her big, cold futon at night without a sigh.

            It drained him, all this socializing. Aoshi had just come from a meeting with the other members in the Aoiya a few moments ago. Since the day he had decidedly become Okashira again, Aoshi made a point in getting to know his members better in his taciturn and perceptive way, consulting them in meaningful matters and making an effort to interact with them more often. The novelty of attending to others and the pains that emerged from it were nothing in comparison to the emotional strains he had experienced in his youth, and these new troubles were more like growing pains—the green aching of young limbs in the morning. 

 He had taken on the task of checking on all of their training on different days of the week and teaching them onmitsu etiquette, educating them on the basics of medicine, politics and literature as well as informing them thoroughly on contemporary foreign and national issues. The others had been shocked and awkward at first, not knowing what to do with the sudden change of authority with Misao's absence. All the others apart from Okina, of course—the sage old man had seen Misao bring the papers to the temple on the night before her and had deduced early on about the changes the tea visit had wrought. Okina was proud of Misao—his little Misao-chan had brought Aoshi out of his past hell and managed to convince him to live on and heal. And Aoshi was certainly not a willing masochist—the fruits of his effort pleased him much more than afternoons spent trying unsuccessfully to purge himself of his sins by revisiting the past. The respect the others bestowed upon them grew along with their genuine partiality for him, and this healthy change had brought him more peace of mind than any prayer or meditation. All he needed was his ladylove to pay tribute to, and his last trial to surmount.

The coming of age befitted them both; resilience had made them strong.

Muted Discourse Ch. 6b 

            It really shouldn't have caused more than a spark. The open window didn't make matters any better, however. Kenshin had left some medicinal Chinese herb tea to simmer before leaving the house, and Misao discovered that it had more than simmered when she came into the kitchen—it had burned. The little shots of fire that came from the smoke and burning tea leaves were sent over by the wind to a nearby pile of newly folded laundry by the table. Once the clothes had erupted into flames, there was no hope left for the dojo; rice paper doors and wooden walls fell victim to the rampant fire, and the Dojo was quickly deteriorating. The state of affairs that Misao had seen once she came out of the bathing room rapidly alerted her mind, forming evacuation plans as she ran towards Kaoru's room to awaken her family. After spending several minutes arousing a drowsy Kaoru, the smoke had already thickened, and Misao dragged Kaoru out of the room with one arm while holding the baby with another. After inching their way outwards towards the backyard, Misao managed to get a drowsy hassled Kaoru out into the safety of her garden with her baby, only to hear Kaoru shriek, "Kenji! He must be still in there!"

 Misao swallowed, nerve-racked, "Shit, that's right." She looked at the house enveloped in flames, sizing up the dilemma, and then thrust out an arm, detaining a nearly hysterical Kaoru as she said softly, "Don't worry, he'll be fine." The small onmitsu girl then ran back into the smoldering house as Kaoru prayed fervently that both would find their way out safely. 

Misao thanked Kami-sama that she hadn't dried off. Her robe, which had been thoroughly wet due to her long thick hair and drenched body, provided protection against the raging fire as she groped her way into Kenji's room. She knew that Kenji probably wasn't conscious, due to the hazy smoke that was slowly poisoning his body, but decided to call out anyway: "Kenji! Kenji-chan!" When she entered his room and saw his prone body against the futon, she bit her lip and nimbly leapt to his side to carry him out. When she saw that a burning wood beam was about to crush the child, she lurched forward to save him. The sound of crushing wood on solid ground resounded duly as Misao felt a searing pain in her leg. The beam had fallen on her leg after she had tried to dodge it with Kenji in her arms. She ground her teeth in agony as she tried to ignore the throbbing and the free trickling blood on her calf and ankle. She ran shakily towards the garden, her free arm reaching out to feel for walls and sudden corners. She had nearly made the exit; she could see the backyard door, when she heard Kenshin yell hoarsely and dash towards her with his arms outstretched. Sensing danger, Misao swiftly tossed Kenji to him, feeling excruciating pain almost immediately and swirling darkness soon afterward.


	7. Chapter 7

Muted Discourse Ch. 7

            An unsettling weight on her lower abdomen woke her up. She soon regretted leaving the soothing blanket of sleep; however, when a potent headache tore at her head and her surroundings came in a haze. Groggy from sleep and queasy from the aftertaste of bitter herbal medicine, Misao shook her head to clear it but fell back on her pillow with a groan—the confounded pounding in her mind and the blur of her surroundings did not improve. Bewildered and pained, Misao lay immobile on her futon, searching for the last recollections she had before her drugged sleep. A searing pain below her stomach and the throbbing ache that gnawed at her ankle soon brought her to full consciousness, even if her fogged vision and racked head didn't improve. _The fire…_ she recalled, _Kami-sama! Had Kenji-chan and Himura made it out all right? What had happened?_ Misao gritted her teeth together—she had to get up and check on the Himuras. _Come to think of it, she mused, __this doesn't look like the dojo. Where am I? Lifting herself up by her arms, Misao gingerly laid her back against the wall; how much damage had she inflicted upon herself this time? The dark and heavy guttural pain she felt prompted her to moan in irritation. She assumed that a falling beam knocked her out in the fire—Himura must have dug her up from the mess and taken her to Genzai-sensei's. She prodded her bandaged lower front and tried to lift her left leg, both actions resulting in a dizzy state of nauseating pain that made her abort her self inspection promptly. __Damn, she cursed silently, __I've twisted my ankle and had my gut pierced in the fire. As she gloomily contemplating how long she would be confined to her bed, the door slid open and a recognizable swish of silk and the sway of long ebony hair caught her eye, "Megumi-sensei."_

            Megumi acknowledged the scowling visage of the Okashira's protégé with a cool dip of her head and a small smile on her lips, "Misao-chan, has it really been two years since we last saw each other?" 

            Misao's frown vanished as a fond smile graced her face, "Yes, it really has. It is a pleasure to see you again." The raven-haired doctor had not changed a bit—her sophisticated poise still emanated from her being, and Misao was sure that her caustic retorts were still sharp with use. However, with the true delight at seeing the doctor came a worried awareness—Megumi only came to Tokyo when her friends were in _real_ trouble. Misao summoned her courage and breathed out deeply, "So, what's your diagnosis on my little dilemma now?"

            Kaoru fidgeted with her hair—Misao had been unconscious for a day and a half. Her wounds didn't seem so serious at a first glance, but the deceptive appearance of her wounds was betrayed by the paleness of Kenshin's countenance when he carried out an unconscious Kenji, only to place him wordlessly on the lawn, bolt back into the raging fire, and silently carry out a limp and battered Misao. She apparently had broken her ankle and cut her stomach, but Kenshin's quiet words had brought Kaoru's breaths to a halt, "Kaoru, send for Megumi-dono immediately." Genzai-sensei served as the doctor for the day while Kaoru, Kenshin, Kenji and Yahiko held their breath and hoped for the best. Kenshin's intuitive anxiety was correct, as usual—Megumi declared that Misao had not only broken her ankle and received a concussion from the falling beam, but she had also pierced her lower abdomen in the fire. The cut bled little, but the unhealthy purple swelling around the wound did not bode well. Kaoru shivered unconsciously, seeking warmth from her husband and keeping a careful eye on her newborn baby girl asleep in Yahiko's arms. A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Kenshin, who had enveloped his worn-out wife in his arms, immediately saw what had made her smile so contentedly: Yahiko had been smitten by the baby girl since he first cast his eyes on her. 

After he had come back from the Akabeko earlier the day before, Yahiko had been first shocked at the news of the fire, and then worried about Misao, who seemed to be in a critical condition. He had spent most of his afternoon waiting in Genzai-sensei's clinic for any news about Misao and had fallen into a fitful sleep when he felt a firm grip on his hair that rudely pulled him out of his much-needed rest. He awoke with a rumbling groan and snapped one eye open moodily, "Whaddya want?" He found himself looking into pristine, innocent, wide violet eyes. 

Kaoru, who had let go of his hair to support her child better with both her arms, smiled proudly, "Myoujin Yahiko, I formally introduce you to Himura Tsuri." Yahiko blinked, unsure of what to do, as Kaoru thrust the baby into his arms. Kaoru sighed exasperatedly, "You hold the baby, Yahiko. Then you coo and sigh over her beauty and compliment her on how much she resembles her mother." Kaoru then amusedly gave Yahiko a long hard look—not a word she said had processed through that thick skull of his—he was already lost in his assessment of the bundle he held in his arms.

_Tsuri_, he observed carefully, _that is a suitable name for this one_. The child was pretty; a chubby fair little girl who uncannily resembled busu except for the violet eyes. He fervently hoped that Tsuri-chan hadn't inherited her mother's temper and poor domestic skills. He cleared his throat and tore his gaze away from the small baby, meeting Kaoru's pleased, expectant gaze with a smirk, "Tsuri is a pretty child—it's good for her that she doesn't look like you, busu! Otherwise, she would have to run after short vagabonds and force one to marry her." 

Kaoru couldn't believe her ears, "What? And you're supposed to be an adult? You brat! Show some more respect!" And the tirade went on, much to Yahiko's dismay. 

When Kenshin had arrived with Kenji on top of his shoulders, the racket had by no means diminished—miraculously, Tsuri-chan had fallen asleep in Yahiko's arms, totally oblivious to the sparked argument her mother and some-what brother were avidly participating in. Kenshin couldn't help but smile at his makeshift family's antics, "Maa, maa, Kaoru and Yahiko! I'm surprised that Tsuri-chan hasn't been awakened by your squabbling!" Kaoru opened her mouth to retort, but then wearily aborted all efforts to fight and nodded, remembering the solemnity of their situation. With the dojo destroyed, a baby to provide for, and her best friend in pain, Kaoru felt overwhelmed by the last day's events. Kenshin had apparently read some of the emotions that crossed over her face, and he attempted to reassure her with calm soothing words, "Misao will pull through this. Now we must go back to the Akabeko and rest—Megumi comes tomorrow at noon." Kaoru nodded absentmindedly as she followed her husband and successor out of the clinic's door. Kenshin halted for a moment, and then said softly, "We should also contact Aoshi-dono first thing in the morning."

A letter was sent, a doctor received, and a patient most anxiously watched over. After having spent most of the morning cleaning the mess at the dojo up, and finding repairmen to reconstruct the building, the Himuras, Yahiko and Tsubame returned to the clinic to check up on Misao and Megumi. Megumi wasn't in the doctor's office, and when they had found Genzai-sensei taking a break with his two granddaughters, he had told them that Megumi was "breaking the news to her as softly as she could". Kenshin and Kaoru exchanged a troubled look: what news?

Misao's ears were ringing. Megumi bit her lip, her dark moist eyes filled with worry and empathy. Misao felt a dull pounding resonate throughout her body, gathering Megumi's words and taking their jumbled meanings together and solving it all out, "My uterus may be damaged or strained—I won't bear children?" Misao's throat was dry and her words had come out slowly, painfully.

Megumi hid her mild surprise with a delicate hand over her faint smile. The onmitsu girl had understood her medical terms even with her current concussion and painful injuries. "She is a sharp one," she noted critically, " and if Aoshi can't see what's in front of him, he'll lose his chance to any other man who has half a brain." She stepped forward, grasped her hand gently and murmured, "There's a fair chance that your uterus is intact. Indeed, it may be that you just have a deep gash that was just a flesh wound, but you have been bleeding internally for a while. I'm telling you all this so you won't be kept in the dark—in case the worst that can happen happens." Misao's bright blue eyes glistened as she nodded at Megumi's words. Megumi sighed, "Misao-chan, if I remember correctly, you are an orphan, right?" Misao could only nod again, tears threatening to overflow. Megumi continued smoothly, "How did your mother pass away?"

Misao swallowed audibly, but her voice rang out surprisingly clear, "She died in childbed—she gave her life up for mine."

            The lady doctor squeezed her patient's hand, "The reason why I asked about your mother was that I had a faint guess about her death, and your words confirmed my thoughts. By your feminine slenderness and petite stature, I could easily presume that you resemble your mother, and that she in turn had found the strains of childbearing difficult, possibly making it be by no means different in your case." Megumi stopped for a while, gathering her breath as she prepared to spell it all out for Misao, "Due to your recent injury at a sensitive area, the history of your immediate family's physical stature as well as your own, I'm sorry to say that it may be difficult, even life-threatening for you to bear children." Misao closed her eyes; tears streaming down her cheeks. She felt Megumi drop her hand, shift over and lightly kiss her on the forehead. With a whispered "Rest well" and the faint rustling of skirts, Megumi was out in a second, leaving Misao to deal with the grave news in solitude. 

            Aoshi couldn't help but feel a little apprehensive—Misao hadn't written in weeks. He had been tempted to write to her to check on her and perhaps to hint on the dynamic changes he and the Oniwabanshuu had gone under together, but he knew that Misao would have her hands full with her pregnant friend and Battousai's son. He only hoped that she would come when she said she would, and come in one piece. Aoshi didn't have much time to meditate these days, nor did he have time to delve into how much he missed Misao—Aoshi was busy rebuilding the Oniwabanshuu, so that it would grow and support his own growing and supporting family. Aoshi only held onto the fact that Misao would come in a week or two, and then he could claim her like he had always dreamed he would, hold her as he never dared to before, and never let go. She was, in all belief, only too good for him; but as nobody minds having what is too good for them, he was very steadily earnest in the pursuit of the blessing, and it was not possible that encouragement from her should delay for long. Soft knocking at his door brought him out of his short reflection, and he looked up to see a slender woman's silhouette in the doorway. _Misao_? He thought bewildered, as he ran a hand through his hair, _No, it can't be, she's too tall… Omasu_. The onmitsu woman bowed respectfully, waiting for his acknowledgement, "Yes, Omasu?"  
            She walked over to him with an arm outstretched, "This came for you just a minute ago, Okashira-san."

            He took the thin envelope from her, noting the address, _Himura—no_. Aoshi almost forgot that Omasu was still standing awkwardly in his room, "Arigatou, Omasu. You may leave." 

            Omasu smiled worriedly, "Hai." She left with a quick bow, wondering what kind of mischief her favorite onmitsu girl had pulled this time.

Aoshi meanwhile ripped the envelope eagerly, eyes devouring the words in a frantic wish to see what Himura had to say about his Misao. Only after reading the letter twice—once in haste, and the second time with deliberate steadiness—did Aoshi drop into his chair, vulnerable and tired. Sickbed—oh how he hated seeing Misao in it—covers that seemed to engulf her frail body, coughs that racked her whole being. _No_, he thought feverishly, _this time it's not sickness, only physical wounds that can be mended_. But Aoshi couldn't fight the feeling that he should be by her side—he would go to her first thing in the morning. The grandfather clock chimed five o'clock. He closed his eyes, remembering the charming awkwardness with which she had given her farewell to him on that morning: her fawn-like blue eyes, the gentle curve of her cheek, the innocent parted lips. He would leave at seven the next morning. 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ivory fingers clenched the futon's heavy blankets. Slender shoulders heaved silently; damp black hair framed the hidden face of an anguished young woman. Tremors threatened to take over as Misao wrestled with her wailing spirit. The world had never denied her anything before: when she was orphaned, Jiya and the others had taken her in. When she lost Aoshi-sama in early childhood, she found him again out of her own free will, and Kenshin brought him back. She was working on obtaining his love, the only thing that seemed to be out of her grasp until recently—now she wasn't sure if she could even mother children. 

            She wanted to be his first—his all. But how could she give her all to him if she couldn't even share his bed for fear of becoming pregnant? She may not even marry now—what man wants a damaged fruit, a limited tree? Even if she was persistent and gained his love, what would they do? He would abstain from marriage for fear of hurting her, or worse, killing her. On top of all the remorse he felt for the fall of his companions, his attempt to kill Jiya, and his temporary madness, would the burden of a fragile lover mount the pile? Misao would not be the source of his pain; she would rather bluntly tell him the truth, feign indifference and refrain from marriage with anyone else, content to live with her one love, even from afar. The pain of her decision and the sudden isolation she felt was almost too much to bear—no solace, no relief. Her tears fell abundantly, soiling her yukata, as she vowed silently to the night, "Tomorrow I will be strong, just let me grieve tonight."

            Subtle morning sunrays fell on his midnight kimono collar, burning his neck. He held a deep breath as he stepped off the train, ready to face anything—even Misao. He was not surprised to see the Himuras already waiting for him—Battousai was very insightful; he had foreseen his actions with accuracy, and was standing before him, the very embodiment of natural amiability and calm. He bowed in acknowledgment, his tone colorless: "How fares your family, Himura Kenshin?" He would not dare to call the auburn-haired man 'Battousai' in such a crowded location, not with his family at risk.

            Despite the gravity behind the visit, Kenshin couldn't help but smile: Aoshi, always the same in some ways, yet so different in others. He was the epitome of masked apathy and the improvising actor who did not follow the script, but his heart. Particularly when it came to a certain young woman. He nodded in response, "Well, thank you Aoshi-dono. I suppose the Aoiya is prospering, ne?" 

"Aa."

After waiting for his wife and his friend to exchange greetings, he lifted a hand up to direct Aoshi to the way home, "Come, Misao-dono is waiting."

She was not in her bedroom at the clinic, which was expected, but when they found her wiping a sick man's brow by Megumi's side, focused and caring, the incomers could only wait and watch in stillness. When the two women were finished with the patient, Megumi and Misao gave each other self-satisfied smiles for their work well done, and Misao gently slipped the handkerchief that had held her hair back from her head, letting a pool of thick ink-colored hair fall from its confinement. She was sweating, pink and bright—the embodiment of health and vigor. Taking a hair ribbon from a pocket of her borrowed doctor's kimono, Misao began to pull her hair into a ponytail, humming contentedly as she watched her friend gather the equipment together. A sudden turn and a flick of long hair brought Megumi eye to eye with the silent spectators. A small smile, slight and knowing emerged on the graceful doctor's lips as she registered the scene before her: a smiling ex-hitokiri who was watching his openly stunned wife who in turn was disbelievingly watching a taken-aback Okashira battle with his emotions as he watched his lovely Misao arrange her hair. How amusing—they were such lovebirds. To goad Shinomori into embarrassment and to give Misao some time to register her shock at his arrival, Megumi launched herself into one of the longest laughing sessions in the course of history: "Ohohohohoho!" 

Misao jumped up in surprise; her back as straight as a rod. That laugh of hers always made the hair on her body stand upright: "For the love of Kami-sama, Megumi! Was that really necessa—" Deep blue tumultuous eyes that devoured and avoided her at the same instance clashed with her ocean clear ones. Jewels and daggers, morning clarity and midnight chill. She shivered unconsciously as she tried to control her own confused feelings, trying to make sense of his eyes, not surprised that he had come, really. Just surprised with his one look. She dropped her gaze to her hands, awkwardly held together in front of her: "A-Aoshi-sama," she muttered, blushing a faint rosy pink, "It's good to see you again." She then smoothly dropped her nervous hands to her sides as she shifted her unsteady gaze to her married friends, "Kaoru! Himura! Good Morning… how is Kenji? I heard…"

"Misao," an even voice interjected, "it would be favorable if we could talk now." 

_Urgh._ She hated it when he wouldn't let her slip off. 

She was entrancing—even with the sheet of perspiration, the drab doctor's kimono top that was too big for her, and her hair held back simply. He tried futilely to unknot the tangled mess that had confused his entire being. Earlier, when he watched her wordlessly in the sickroom tying her hair back, he felt a primal desire take over him when he saw her pearly arms hold back the mass of black hair, revealing her delicate neck. It wasn't a good idea to ravish her in front of the Himuras and the lady doctor, but no one could vouch for the trip back home once she had recovered. He gave her a quick searing glance—she seemed relatively intact; if it weren't for the crutch and leg bandages. The bandages covering her abdominal wound were hidden from view with her kimono front. He cleared his throat and asked tentatively, "Misao, is everything all right? I hope you are recovering rapidly." The stiff straightening of her shoulders and the rapid intake of breath did not escape his notice. So there was something wrong.

"Aoshi-sama, I have a damaged uterus." There—said and done; blunt and ugly. The poor man stood stiffly, letting the abrupt words sink in. The trees that aligned the clinic swayed softly, the rustling of leaves and the whispered sayings of the wind weighing down upon the two.

Aoshi had a fairly good grasp of western medicine—he knew exactly what a uterus was, and the connected meaning with the aforementioned organ brought sudden knowledge: _She couldn't bear children_. He stared back at her, astounded. All of the earlier resolve, his plans for her and him, even his love—all had to be reconsidered. As he gathered his wits, retreating to the safety of his muted mask, he observed Misao. She had trembled after telling him her problem, but then a deep fire had sparked in the wells of her eyes. He admired her spirit—she would not be the one to run; she faced her situation head on, even with his flailing and dumb shock. Damn all his careful deliberation: he wanted and needed her—he would hold her now, even if he couldn't do so later in the future.

She blinked in surprise; she had seen him retreat behind his wall of ice and had prepared herself to face reality by herself, but she had underestimated him. Held tight against his chest, she was too shocked to do anything but look up to see his face, to look up for answers. She didn't find any: his eyes were closed, his mouth as unyielding as ever. She was bewildered, what was this embrace supposed to mean? Whatever it was, she couldn't help but relax in his arms—she had been given a glimpse of paradise—why not take advantage of it, even if it was for a little while? 

She felt light and soft in his arms—a little bird with a fluttering heart and soft breasts. He inhaled her scent; she smelled of mint, juniper and clean sweat. She made him feel dazed and wonderful, she made him feel foolish. She was dangerous, he was dangerous—the perfect pair. Unfortunately, there was too much danger involved; he would have to find a way to deal with this new dilemma. Could he marry her, knowing that one night of wedded bliss could bring her death, or could he shun her, knowing she could have been his every day behind his chilled mask, his winter fortress? No, he knew he could deny his own happiness. He had been doing so for the last twenty or so years. But would he endanger hers? A novel idea flitted through his mind: _why not ask her?_ Reluctantly, he released her but not completely—settling his large hands on her shoulders, he looked her square in the eye and murmured, "What should we do now?"

Misao swallowed audibly. Liberation and entrapment, confidence and hesitation; his few words had gratified and terrified her in one instant. Love overflowed from her for the faith and new openness he portrayed: vulnerability on his side was not a face he liked to show. Yet, it seemed like the matter was forced on them too early. Could they—would they do the right thing? They were still young, and unripe with the matters of love. Doubt festered her mind, even as hope illuminated it. Misao was always an optimist, but also a realist; could she make the correct decision when it was her beloved's life at stake as well as hers? She closed her eyes, running her tongue over her lips, "I don't know." 

His hands dropped heavily from her shoulders. 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9 

            She missed the heavy warmth of his hands and lifted her arms unconsciously to cover her shoulders where his hands had been but a minute ago, shivering slightly. Cobalt eyes pierced her as she stood rigid, her face downcast as she felt herself fall deep into the crevices of her confused mind. The feeling was chilling, yet exhilarating—she held her future in her hands, what would she do now? Endless possibilities, a never ending horizon seemed to dawn in front of her, but the one element she needed to be sure of was, in her eyes, beyond her reach. Taking a small step backwards, Misao looked up with a small, quivering smile and then turned, beseeching him to follow her with a turn of her head. Perplexed, Aoshi conceded, his long stride adjusting to follow behind Misao's unsteady limp. He didn't offer any help—she would never take it, not as long as she was her own person. He acknowledged her individuality, and any action that would indicate her helplessness or dependency would anger her more than any words ever could. 

_She is heading towards the clinic again,_ he noted curiously, _what could she possibly have to show me?_ His unvoiced query was answered shortly; she stopped suddenly behind a tall tree, bidding him to look to his right. The sight of Himura Battousai and his wife with their two children greeted his eyes. Battousai was holding the baby girl contentedly, watching his wife play with Kenji in peaceful silence. After a few moments of muted observation, Aoshi felt a small tug on his shirt: it was Misao, whose deep blue eyes were filled with fondness, sadness and another emotion he could not distinguish. "Come," she whispered, guiding him back to the garden, her hand still holding tight onto the fabric of his shirt. Halting by a tall peach tree, Aoshi noticed the emerging buds and green shoots for the first time. _The rebirth of life_, he noted with a twinge of bitterness and regret. That was when Misao's clear voice blocked all other thoughts out of his mind.

"Aoshi-sama…" she articulated softly, "The reason why I took you to see Himura and his family was to show you what you can have in the future. You may never have what he has, if you choose me." She hesitated—was she being too forthright? He hadn't even expressed his love for her, what if he thought she was jumping to conclusions? Nevertheless, Misao knew in her heart that what she was doing was right—her statement would determine if he loved her or not, and it would also provide as a warning to him if he indeed did love her, to keep him at bay. _How ironic_, she thought wretchedly, _I want him to tell me he loves me, but I don't want him to marry me. Oh, this is my battle as well as his—either I let him go, or I make him fall. _She shut her eyes tight to keep her tears at bay; she had never felt so vulnerable as now, nevertheless she had to go on, "I wish for your compassion, but not your pity—I have no intentions of marrying anyone, ever. If you seek happiness, you must find it elsewhere." Opening her eyes with impassive determination, Misao stepped away from him: _I release all holds I had on you_. Turning to leave, her face distorted with aching misery, she felt Aoshi move swiftly, grabbing her by the arm and forcing her to face him again. Wiping her face of all her turmoil, Misao looked up at him, feeling his searching eyes roam over her face, his own hard and stern. 

"Liar." Misao smiled sadly; it was astounding how well Aoshi knew her, it was really all too bad things had to end the way they did—they really had a chance before, but Misao knew when she had to give up. What she didn't know was that Aoshi didn't have such wisdom, "Misao, why are you doing this? You can't and you won't shut me out." Grabbing her by the shoulders for emphasis, he gave her a slight shake before continuing, his shield cracking slightly as emotions began to dart over his features, "You're mine." He then drew her into his arms, holding her fiercely, intimately, with one large hand curved over her side and another cupping the back of her head. "Now, before you can say more nonsense, we're taking you back to the clinic," he murmured, but neither of them made any effort to move. 

Another month passed on its own accord: by now the peach tree at the clinic had started to bloom, lending fragrance and enlightening the garden with frosty pink petals. The dojo had been fully repaired, thanks to the combined effort of the students, the townspeople and several of the Himuras' friends. Misao had fully healed, walking with no difficulty, her frontal injury now but a long pink scar on her abdomen. When Aoshi was convinced of her health, he booked train tickets back to Kyoto for the next day. Megumi had left for her clinic in Aizu that day, but not before pulling Misao into the privacy of a small room for a few well-chosen words of leave. 

Misao had been chopping horseradishes in the newly furnished kitchen of the dojo when she heard a whisper, "Misao-chan! Over here!" Misao's acute hearing led her to Megumi, who was standing next to the kitchen door in the living room, "May I have a few words with you before I leave today?"

"Oh, of course! Would you like to talk right now?"

"Now would be nice, Misao-chan. Follow me." Without even giving Misao a chance to wipe her hands on her apron, the lady doctor grabbed the smaller woman by the wrist and led her down the long wooden hallway and into the guest room. Gesturing Misao to sit on a cushion, Megumi sat down on another on the floor, her hair trailing gracefully over her shoulders, her red mouth curved up in a pleasant smile and her eyes keenly taking in Misao's expression as she raised a slender hand to pick up a small parcel by her bags. Holding it out to Misao, Megumi smiled encouragingly and said matter-of-factly, "Do not let any kind of burden or obstacle impede you from asking for what your heart truly desires, my dear." Misao could only blink, only remembering to take the package when Megumi bluntly thrust it at her, "Just because I am a doctor, and I had to give you an honest and commonsensical diagnosis does not sentence you, Misao-chan. You may possess unique resilience, or you may have never suffered a wound to the uterus, in which my words are not only misguiding, but also harmful. Here, take this—it may prove to be useful later on." When Misao fingered the parcel and tried to unwrap it, Megumi halted her with a laugh, "Oh no, Misao-chan. You can't open it until you tell me the final standing between you and your beloved Aoshi-sama. That's the one and only condition that comes with this bundle. Consider it a departing gift from a friend and professional doctor in one." Then Megumi lifted a delicate hand to her lips, laughing mysteriously as she waved Misao off to dismiss her. 

Misao grinned even as she shoved her curiosity aside—Megumi was quite a character, and one of the most caring people under her aloof façade. Embracing her warmly as her wordless way of thanking her, Misao smiled up at her tall friend with a sunny smile, "Take care, Megumi-sensei." 

Megumi smiled down at the petite young lady, "You too, Okashira-san."

Misao shook her head slightly, happiness filling her features, "In that aspect, you're wrong—I am a woman of no titles."

Megumi arched an eyebrow, "Oh, has the stoic Shinomori Aoshi reclaimed the position? I am surprised, perhaps he is a man worthy of notice, then." Dodging Misao's playful blow agilely, Megumi shoved her out gently, her laughter resonating in the hallway.

Deep in thought, Megumi spent a few minutes in silence with her back to the door, thinking over her friend's predicament. She didn't hear the smooth sliding of the door nor the muted steps of a person behind her as she stood in contemplation. Only when the person spoke, breaking the silence, did she turn in surprise: "Takani-sensei, may I have a few words with you?" 

_Oh, the day of miracles has come_, thought Megumi wryly when she saw Shinomori Aoshi standing before her when she turned to face the intruder of her reflections. She gave him a searching look as she said pleasantly, "Yes, Shinomori-san. How may I help you?"

To her astonishment, the tall man silently shook his head, "No, I have not come to ask you any more favors than you have already bestowed upon me and my own. I came to ask for your pardon." Seeing that Megumi was rooted to her place in surprise, he continued, "I never apologized for my actions back when I was working with my comrades, and for my indifference and corruption, I am truly sorry and regret my past actions." 

Megumi looked into the Okashira's deep-set eyes, and although his face was as impassive as usual, she saw the sorrow and genuine wish for atonement lurking in his dark blue depths. Megumi let out a deep breath, smiling up at the dark man, but letting the smile fill her features this time, "I accept your apology, but I will retract any kindness to you if you do not put a stake on what is yours. Do not hesitate with her."

She got the closest thing to a smile Aoshi had ever shown anyone, "I do not plan to." Satisfied with his answer, she responded with another gentle smile. Megumi then bowed formally to him in a manner that befitted a respected Okashira, and sent him out with a strong conviction nestling in the bottom of her mind: _We are all healing—it is time for spring_. 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10a 

"You're mine." 

Those few words had filled her with more certainty than any others he had ever uttered before. Blushing furiously as she shoved the sliced potatoes into a pot of boiling water, Misao felt her face heat up with the memory of his embrace. _Oh Kami-sama_, she wailed internally, _could I be any sillier?_ Stirring the contents of the pot absentmindedly, Misao delved into her thoughts deeply, only to have her jarred out of them suddenly by an object that clamped to her leg, "Misao nee-chan! Can you play with me?" 

Bending down with a fond smile, Misao ruffled Kenji's hair affectionately before responding wistfully, "Iie, Ken-chan, gomen! Nee-chan has to make dinner for tonight."

"Why can't Otousan make it?"

"Otousan is busy with Tsuri-chan. I know, why don't you find Aoshi onii-san and ask him if would play with you?"

"Iie, he's too scary."

Misao couldn't help herself; she started laughing, peals of it filling the house with mirth. Kenji clapped his hands together, too innocent to comprehend what made his nee-chan laugh, but glad that he had made her happy. The thought of Kenji abusing his poor father, the legendary Battousai who had defeated so many accomplished swordsmen, but fearing tall and quiet Aoshi-sama, one of the men Kenji's father had defeated, was almost too much to bear. Misao leaned on the countertop, panting for a breath as she held a hand over her heart, trying to still her laughter. Kaoru poked her head into the kitchen, smiling curiously, "Really, Misao-chan, what's so funny? I haven't heard you laugh like that in ages!" Misao, still scarlet from the exertion, could only shake her head as she gasped. Kaoru looked at her son in mock anger, hiding her smile as she watched Kenji shuffle his feet and bow his head in shame, "Himura Kenji, what have you been doing to poor Misao nee-chan?"

"I only—"

"No excuses; it's time for your bath." Scooping up her son, Kaoru turned her head to give Misao a wholehearted grin before leaving, "I'm starving, Misao! I expect a full-blown banquet tonight!" Ignoring the sputtering excuses her friend gave, Kaoru marched out of the kitchen with a flailing Kenji tucked under one arm.

Misao sighed in defeat, tossing her braid over her shoulder as she focused her attention on the soup again. Even after childbirth, Kaoru had retained her monstrous appetite, claiming that she still had cravings that had to be fulfilled so she could be an able-bodied mother. Misao shook her head in dismay—how could Himura handle Kaoru all by himself when Kenji had been born? Himura was a man of wonders. Vaguely wondering if Aoshi would be as doting, Misao slapped her arm in consternation: _Enough_, she scolded herself, _you shouldn't even wonder about mothering_. But she couldn't help herself from planting a small seed of hope in her heart: _But perhaps…_

            Kenshin relaxed on the grass, watching his baby daughter slumber peacefully on her blanket. He felt the sun play over his face, lingering as dusk approached, soaking in its warmth as he sat against a large sakura tree. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone approach him. Turning to greet the person, he registered in mild surprise that it was Aoshi. Motioning for him to join him and Tsuri-chan on the grass, he watched with a smile as the tall man sat down by his side, his gaze intent on the sleeping baby by his side, "She resembles Kaoru, de gozaru yo."

            "Aah." The two men sat in silence, taking in the sight of the falling flower petals and darkening sky. It was Aoshi, surprisingly who broke the silence, "Himura, I would like to thank you for your hospitality. It was kind of you to watch over Misao even when you were occupied with a new child and the reconstruction of your abode at the same time."

            Kenshin smiled, "Misao is a dear friend of ours; her smiles and efforts mean a lot to us. It was barely enough to pay back for all the kindness, effort and time she spent with my family before Tsuri's birth." Watching Aoshi deliberate over his words, Kenshin couldn't help but add, "Misao has become quite a woman, Aoshi-dono. Perhaps…"

            Aoshi smoothly interjected, "I already had Takani-sensei suggest a similar sort of affirmative action, and I conceded." Kenshin couldn't help but smile deeper at hearing this, but did not offer any more words. Their short discourse's ending was punctuated with the arrival of Yahiko, who had just returned from running errands. Seeing Aoshi, Kenshin, and Tsuri near the sakura tree; he stopped and said, "Konbanwa Kenshin, Aoshi-san." After both men acknowledged the younger one's greeting, Yahiko turned to Aoshi with a request, "Would you like to spar with me this evening?" Aoshi answered with a nod, and Yahiko grinned in anticipation, barely able to contain his boyish delight, "Yoshi! Um, ano… Arigatou." Kenshin hid a smile as he watched the corners of Aoshi's mouth twitch—no wonder: Yahiko could sound remarkably like Misao at times.

            Misao plopped on her futon with a sigh. Kenshin had come indoors soon after sunset, bringing a sleeping Tsuri-chan to Kaoru and insisting that Misao take a rest so he could finish making dinner. Misao readily complied, lumbering to her room so she could take a short nap. With a large yawn, Misao slid under the heavy covers, her eyes fluttering shut as she drifted off into her dreams. The dojo was quiet except for the occasional shriek and splash of water coming from the bathing room, indicating that Kaoru was getting a bath as thorough as Kenji's. Megumi had already left the day before, and with Yahiko outside and Kaoru giving her son a bath, the house was gratifyingly quiet. A thought that had often passed through her mind presented itself yet again as she felt her body become sluggish with sleep:_  I wonder what Aoshi-sama is doing now…_Burrowing deeper under her blankets, Misao fell into a deep dreamless sleep_._

            The sound of firm yet moderate knocking startled the young woman from her nap. Sitting upright, Misao asked sleepily, "What? Who's there?" 

            "Misao, it's dinner time." 

Aoshi's deep, rumbling voice brought her to her feet instantly, as she shook her head vigorously to ward off the lingering spells of sleep, "Ha-hai, Aoshi-sama. I'll join you in a second. After throwing on a light surcoat and throwing a quick glance at the small mirror by her washbasin, she opened the door and halted momentarily, dizzy from her sleepiness and the image Aoshi made, leaning against the wall. His hair was wet and jagged and his complexion clear. His arms folded casually as his loose yukata and bare feet reminded her of her last meet with him before her departure back at the Aoiya. Tearing her gaze away from him as she blushed rosily, Misao tried to say something that wouldn't betray her inner thoughts, "S-so, Aoshi-sama. How was your day?" 

Walking up to him with a timid smile on her face, she looked at her hands clasped together, waiting for his response before they left the hallway to join the Himuras for dinner. Aoshi looked down at her, something flickering in his eyes, "I spent some time doing Oniwa business, then I talked to Himura for a while, and I sparred with Myoujin Yahiko for an hour or so." Misao blinked with mild surprise—Himura, not Battousai? He had sparred with Yahiko? She swiftly tried to digest the meaning of his actions, but after finding that Aoshi was waiting for her to go with him for dinner, decided to push her thoughts aside for a later time. One thing was for sure—the change of his actions brought a smile that graced her features. Aoshi watched in guarded silence as he saw Misao transform from a ruffled sleepy girl into a glowing young woman with a rosy flush and charming smile on her face. _It will be very difficult to keep my hands off of her_, he discovered, laying a tentative hand around her shoulder and bringing her closer to his side as the two of them walked towards the kitchen. 

Chapter 10b 

Misao couldn't help but fidget nervously as she gathered all of the tea materials together on a tray. Aoshi had taken to working in his room, and had given up going to the temple every day, she noted mentally when her eyes scanned the contents on her tray, making sure everything was there. They had been back from Tokyo for a day already, and Aoshi had grabbed her by the hand before leaving the train upon their arrival at Kyoto, telling her that they would talk the next time Misao brought tea to him. Misao picked up the tray shakily, and then put it back down with a sigh; Kami-sama, she was nervous. She knew all too well that the fate of their love rested on this meeting—Misao would do her best to be in her most composed, balanced mindset. Breathing deeply and applying a few meditation tricks she had picked up, Misao closed her eyes for a few minutes, concentrating on relieving all inner turmoil as she sat still. _Bah_, she thought impatiently after a few moments of ineffective silence, _it doesn't work. Oh well, I'll just try my best and trust in myself_. Looking out of the window for any sign of encouragement, Misao smiled as she looked at the blossoming plum trees in the Aoiya courtyard. _Call me a fool_, she told to herself amusedly, _but I interpret flowers as positive omens_. Taking up the tray once more with firm hands, Misao walked determinedly towards Aoshi's room.

Aoshi had given up doing any sort of paperwork hours ago. He ran a hand through his hair in agitation, standing anxiously by the window, the sight of the flowering trees doing little to ease his apprehension. _Where in the name of Kami-sama was Misao?_ This was the first time in many that Aoshi had felt such impatience and dread before Misao came to participate in their customary tea ceremony. He gently pounded his fist against the windowpane, his teeth gritted together as he felt adrenaline pump through his system. He knew the big decisions they had to make, and his nervousness wasn't going to encourage the results of their meeting. _One thing is certain_, he thought with rigid certainty, _I'm not letting her go without a fight. I do not take lightly to anyone or anything taking what is mine away without my permission_. With that last possessive thought, Aoshi turned from the window the same at time he heard a light knock on his door, "Come in."

Misao licked her lips nervously, setting the tray down on his large desk. Turning to face him with a small uneasy smile, Misao cleared her voice and said, "Konnichiwa, Aoshi-sama." Aoshi nodded in response, approaching her and pulling out two chairs away from the desk so he and Misao could sit together comfortably. Misao poured the tea meticulously; the only sign of her inner agitation was sight of her teeth biting on her lower lip. Handing a steaming cup to the impassive man, she sat down with a sigh only perceptible to herself as she brought her cup to her face, blowing on its contents to conceal part of her face. Aoshi wasn't helping—instead of starting the discussion; he sat silently with his cup in hand, watching her with those deep blue eyes of his. Misao stopped fidgeting and began to replace her anxiety with irritation: oh, were all men as dense as her Aoshi-sama? He should know that she wasn't willing to start the conversation! Putting her cup away with a frown she blurted, "So, what are we going to do about all this?" 

Aoshi had watched her with hidden amusement, seeing her get more irked by the moment at his unwillingness to talk. He indulged himself with a very minute smile before responding, "I don't know. What _are_ we going to do?" 

Misao sat back in astonishment—had Aoshi just smiled at her? He sat back comfortably, his eyes unreadable and his stolid expression put back in place; it must have been her imagination. 

"A-ano, Aoshi-sama. I need to know how we really are right now. We should carefully consider the state of our feelings before assuming things or acting rashly. I mean, this is _marriage_ we're talking about." She watched Aoshi bring the teacup to his mouth and take a sip, as cool and nonchalant as ever, making her blood boil in frustration. "Are you listening to me?"

With her last outburst, Aoshi brought the cup away from his mouth, revealing a slight smile: "You have all my attention, as always." 

He was rewarded with a pretty blush and Misao's temporary confusion, "Na-nani?"

Getting up smoothly, his arm stretched out to place the cup on his desk. Aoshi soon breached the distance between the two of them, putting his hands on the arm rests so he could lean over her, his face but a few inches from hers. Misao turned a deeper shade of scarlet as she stammered, "Aoshi-sama, what are you doing?" Her breathing was becoming labored—his closeness was almost too much to handle. His warm breath made her dizzy and his blue eyes hypnotized her, pushing all rational thoughts aside.

"Giving you my full attention."

Misao averted her gaze, and then laid a gentle yet firm hand against his chest, warding him off of her, "No, Aoshi-sama. I can't talk to you like that—it's too distracting."

Aoshi stared at her in a moment of inscrutable silence, before grabbing her by the arm and leading her to the open window. He gestured for her to come closer to the window before speaking, "I already told you what I think of our relationship." Misao bit her lip—how could she ever forget those words? They would be engraved forever in her memory, along with that fiery embrace. He looked out into the garden, taking a deep breath before he continued, "Do you remember the time you fell ill? I came to visit you when you were about thirteen years old." Misao nodded encouragingly, a small blush crowning her features as she thought about Aoshi's comment about diapers that time. "I stayed by your side those nights when you tossed and turned, battling with your fears alone. Even then, I felt like I wanted to be by your side. Misao, I have loved you as a man loves a woman since you were thirteen. I am willing to be patient—I have waited for years. I can and will wait for you." He turned to look piercingly at the slender woman besides him, his eyes expectant, pleading, and loving. 

Misao's head was spinning. He had said what? She put a hand on the windowpane to steady herself—all this waiting, all her hope and pain had accumulated for this moment, and all Misao could think of was how simple it all could have been. But then again, he was Aoshi, and she was Misao—they just had to go around circles with each other for Kami-sama knows how long! Pushing aside her frustrations, she looked up at him uncertainly, voicing her greatest worry as she tried very hard to keep her tears at bay, "And what about children? You heard my diagnosis—I may never be able to be a mother. Would you be content with living with me, sleeping with me, and never being able to… make love to me?" Shaking her head sorrowfully, Misao sighed, "Aoshi-sama, I don't even know if I could restrain myself. Would it be wise to have such restrictions between a husband and his wife?" 

Aoshi took her small pale hand in his large one and gazed upon her face, "Do you love me, Misao?"

Misao closed her eyes, tears running down her cheeks, "Yes."

"Then do me the greatest honor of trusting in yourself." 

Misao's eyes flew open, "Nani?"

"If I trust us to make things all right, then you should, too. If you believe our love is strong enough, then we can go through anything together. Are you ready to take the risks?" 

Aoshi dropped her hand gently, and turned to face the garden fully, the light playing upon his features as he waited for Misao to respond. 

"Yes…Aoshi."

His arms draped over her petite figure, he brought her into a crushing embrace, "Good. I've been longing to do this to you for a long time." He leaned against the wall, his head lowered to capture her lips with his. 

Misao's eyes had fluttered open with initial surprise, but then closed contentedly as she tentatively wrapped her arms around him, sharing the fire with him. _So silent, and yet so passionate_, thought Misao as she felt herself get swept away by the sensations he was creating, his warm wet mouth wreaking havoc in her mind, _What a fool I had been; I should have known I could never refuse him._


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11a

            "Oof," grunted Misao as she placed the clean dishes on the rack to dry—she shouldn't have eaten three servings of stew that night. _It couldn't be helped_, Misao reasoned, _I was starving!_ But the abnormal weight that settled at the bottom of her stomach made her feel slightly queasy. She shook her head slightly—maybe she should have gone a little easy on her portions. She then smacked her fist on the countertop, grasping an idea that had flitted through her mind: she could take a walk to digest a little, and then she could do some late night training. _Perfect_, thought Misao triumphantly, _that way, I can concentrate on getting back into shape!_ Humming cheerfully as she washed her hands, Misao scowled at the remains of the dish she had broken earlier: she had been daydreaming about the kiss she had shared with Aoshi the day before, resulting in a careless slip of her hands and a mess of broken shards in the sink. _Get a grip, Misao_, she growled at herself exasperatedly, _it was just a kiss!_ Oh, what an inaccurate understatement that was. Misao's cheeks flushed—his enveloping warmth and demanding ardor had plagued her thoughts many a time that day. _I hope we can try that again sometime soon…_

Aoshi lifted the shutters, looking out silently in front of the Aoiya's front window as he waited for a particular someone to arrive. He wasn't too worried about her safety—she was a kunoichi, after all. He was impatient; however—he had just one more thing in plan for her. His sharply tuned hearing caught on light, steady steps and merry whistling; she was back. Opening the door before she could even raise her hand to grasp the handle, Aoshi simply said, "We're going out for another round."

            Misao smiled effulgently: anything that involved Aoshi seemed heavenly to her now. Timing her flighty steps with his long strides, Misao looked up at him, "Are we going to do anything _interesting_, Aoshi?" 

            Smiling faintly on her emphasis on "interesting", Aoshi nodded, "You'll see, Misao." Content with his brief confirmation, Misao focused on the scenery of the garden in moonlight. The sky was clear that night: the stars shone vibrantly, making her almost dizzy at their pale intensity, and the strong greens and spring colors had been subdued to silvery jades and dark indigos in their nocturnal setting. Smiling contentedly, Misao breathed in the fragrant fresh smell of crushed grass and subtle blossoms, grateful for the beauty that surrounded her. Aoshi looked over at Misao, giving her a gentle look before grasping her hand in his with a timidity that amused Misao—he would have to get used to touching her. 

            Aoshi exhaled loosely. He didn't need to look at the radiant young woman by his side to feel shivers running down his spine pleasantly—her hand in his sufficed. Their pace gradually lessened to a slow stroll. They were enjoying the evening together: there is never enough time for young lovers. Soon they had stopped in front of a grand maple tree a little off into the border between Kyoto and the dark forest. Aoshi and Misao faced each other, their eyes locked onto their joined hands. Slowly, Aoshi raised her hand to their faces, gently turning it upwards, tracing the faint lines on her palm. Misao closed her eyes, enjoying the sensations he aroused with such a simplistic touch. Her eyes only opened when she felt his warm, moist lips press onto the center of her hand, leaving a damp imprint on her, his mark of possession. Taking in Misao's surprise and pleasure with shining, heated eyes, Aoshi brought her closer, bending over to seize her by the mouth. Stroking the soft baby hair that had escaped her pinned up hair, Aoshi reached up and let all her hair down as he continued to court her lips. They only parted when they had to come up for air, gasping and taking in the cool night air greedily.  Aoshi smiled amusedly, his chest heaving as he stared at Misao, who wasn't in a condition any better than his. _It's the first time in a while that I've seen Misao too spent up to even talk_, he noticed with humor. _Well, she better get accustomed to it_. 

            Noticing Aoshi's smile for the first time, Misao looked up into his unguarded eyes, her gaze light and dancing. _He has an irresistible smile_, mused Misao dreamily, _if he smiles like that again, I think I'll have a hard time keeping myself off of him_. Misao watched him in dazed perplexity—he was fumbling with something in his pants pocket. Aoshi, who saw Misao's questioning glance at his hand in his pocket, gave her an endearing look as he brought out a dark handkerchief. Misao stared at it openly—it looked like it was covering a short, narrow object. Aoshi briefly shut his eyes, sending a brief prayer to any entity in the heavens, "Please guide me—I am usually not a man of many words." Then he turned his piercing eyes to Misao, who stood in front of him with loving expectation. Inhaling sharply, Aoshi slowly kneeled before Misao, putting his large hands on her waist, "Misao, I have something to give to you. Taking the small bundle from the grass, he offered it to her silently, "The last kunai. The last piece of my heart—I am now all yours."

            Misao immediately brought her hand to her mouth, her throat dry: he had kept one of the kunai for all these years? Taking it shakily with her other hand, she unwrapped it and held it to the light—finally, her set was truly complete. Putting the small knife gently aside on the ground, she then leapt into Aoshi's arms, brushing his earlobe with her lips while she whispered, "Arigatou, Aoshi." Aoshi held her close to him, feeling overwhelmed by the feeling of her cheek against his, her soft hair brushing against his hands, and her warm breath tickling his ear. Putting her down for fear of dropping her in dizziness, Aoshi leaned forward, supporting himself by holding onto her shoulders. Misao smiled beautifully, tears glistening in the deep blue of her eyes. Aoshi lifted a hand to stroke her cheek, gathering all of his courage to murmur, "Misao, will you be my wife?" Overwhelmed, all Misao could do coherently was nod. She was rewarded for the second time with a small smile that lit up his dark features: Aoshi was pleased beyond words. 

When they had reached the Aoiya's front gate, the two lovers lingered, reluctant to return to propriety and formality back in the company of others. Misao's expression became serious, and she tugged Aoshi's shirt to gain his attention, "Aoshi, we still have something important to talk about."

Sensing the air of gravity that hung around his fiancée, Aoshi halted, turning to give her his undivided awareness, "Go on, Misao."

Gathering all of her courage, Misao looked at him square in the eye and said simply, "What about children?"

Her tall suitor blinked, "Yes?"

Misao sighed, "Aoshi, I want you to hear me through, okay?" Seeing him nod slightly, she continued trenchantly, "I think it's worth a try. I mean, I think that we can have children." Hearing his sharp intake of breath, Misao smiled wryly, "Oh, come on, Aoshi. Even if it was true that I did get injured, it wasn't too deep a wound. It is known by fact that the uterus is located closer to a woman's spine than to her frontal region—I doubt I did much more than strain it." Aoshi couldn't help but admire her intelligence—what exactly had she been doing all those years during his absence? Misao reasoned further, eager to make her point, "Also, Okaasan did pass away at my birth, but she had an extremely delicate build, even more slight than mine. As you remember, Ojiisan had never been a tall, well-built man—that's what made him a great Okashira—no one could possibly guess how potent and efficient he was just by taking in his appearances. Otousan, on the other hand, had been everything Okaasan's father had not been: tall, lean and full of raw power." She ceased for a moment, letting Aoshi take in the words, "Therefore, it is true that I resemble Okaasan, but she only constitutes half of my being. Otousan is also an ever-present part of my life—from him I get my persistence, my courage, and also my strength. I trust in my heritage—if they risked their lives to have me, I can do the same for my children and for you." Flushing furiously at the revelation of her innermost thoughts, Misao turned away from Aoshi, trying in vain to collect her tumultuous emotions. 

Aoshi was stunned—what a woman he had in his hands! Since when had she become so determined, so wise? It had been his luck and his only decisive victory that let him claim her as his own. Tenderly, Aoshi wrapped his arms around her from behind, "So it will be, Misao. We will have children." Then he blew softly on her hair, murmuring wistfully, "The only upsetting thing is that we have to wait now."

 Misao couldn't help but giggle, "My, my, aren't we a bit impatient." Behind his deceptively solemn countenance, Misao could see that he was laughing with her.

Chapter 11b 

            Misao wrinkled her nose in mild disgust; did Omasu truly believe she was going to put all that gunk on her face? Fidgeting restlessly, Misao sighed deeply, looking out of the window with a dewy smile. She knew that her Aoshi was a passionate man, but she didn't know that he was so impatient to marry her. She smiled with pleased humor: _He couldn't even wait for longer than a month. Himura and Kaoru must be endlessly amused_. Fingering the silky material of her pale wedding kimono, Misao colored slightly, full of hope and anticipation. There was a light knock on the door, "Come in," Misao called out pleasantly, "Oh! Megumi! I'm very happy you managed to make it to the wedding!" 

            Megumi smiled charmingly, her red full lips curved and her dark eyes sparkling, "Yes, it hasn't been too long, has it? It does seem like a certain stone is eager to have you as his wife, and consequently, as his bed companion." 

            Misao glared at her in mock-anger, "Such lack of respect for the couple-to-be, Takani-sensei!"

             "Misao, you're a woman now, and I'm sure you're well informed about nightly pleasures. Why, with that transvestite's revelations a while back ago, and your sharp onmitsu hearing skills, you must've picked up quite a few things."

             "Oh, Megumi! How could you remind me about that vile man's elephant?" 

            Laughing daintily, Megumi patted the girl's shoulder sympathetically, "Ah yes, your virgin eyes." Ignoring the scowl Misao aimed at her, Megumi tossed her hair aside nonchalantly, saying matter-of-factly, "Oh, I have something for you." 

Fishing a small brown package from the inside of her kimono top, she handed it over to Misao. Misao took it with a smile, which was replaced with a look of recognition: "This is just like the package you gave to me earlier!" 

            Megumi nodded pleasantly, "Very good, Misao-chan. You may open it now." 

            Misao opened the bundle and stared in surprise when she saw the dried substance unwrapped, "Tea?"

            "Yes, would you like me to explain? They're the ingredients of a very special tea. After you have your nocturnal adventures, you drink a cup every morning to prevent pregnancy. When you run out, you may ask me to send you some more."

            Misao knew the value of such a gift. With a heartfelt grin, Misao thanked her and added saucily, "I guess Aoshi won't be disappointed, then." Both women's laughter rang through the Aoiya, jubilant and free.

Misao smiled fondly at the collected friends and family celebrating down below—how would she have made it to where she was without any of their support? The looks on their faces upon her arrival had been priceless; if they had doubts about her maturity before, they certainly knew now that she had grown up—she was a married woman! Recalling Aoshi's enraptured expression he had reserved only for her, Misao smiled secretly to herself again. The vow he took sincerely, as well as the loving look he had bestowed upon her when he lifted the veil to give her a chaste kiss had made Misao sigh with pleasure. She had to admit that she was getting a little softheaded—she only seemed to be capable of irrational laughter, silly tears and deep sighs. She amusedly hoped that Aoshi wouldn't mind if she couldn't talk intelligibly for the first few months of their marriage. Smiling effulgently by the window side, Misao watched the sun set as she waited for her husband to join her in their bedroom. She had scorned the traditional cushion on the floor, opting for the seat on the couch by the open window so she could see the events in the garden below. _To hell with tradition_, thought Misao as she grinned roguishly, pulling her gown up to her knees so she could sit more comfortably, _no one can see me from up here anyways_. As if he could read her mind, Aoshi looked up at her that moment, a slight stealthy smile meant only for her. Misao shivered in anticipation—when would nightfall come?

Owari

Comments: Ugh. Was that almost too sweet for you guys? Like saccharine sweet? 

Aoshi had asked Misao earlier to trust in herself, but he probably was still wary about the idea of children, hence Misao's need to talk to him about having children with him after their engagement. 

The tea Megumi had given Misao actually exists—it's Chinese, really potent and nasty-smelling (no, I'm not speaking from experience, okay? I've just heard about it, that's all…)

Traditional Asian marriages (from my limited knowledge) had the bride come down veiled only for the actual ceremony (which took place late afternoon early evening-ish), having her sent back to her husband's room to wait for him in the nighttime by herself in silence as he celebrated with the guests. A little chauvinistic, but hey… that's how it really was back then. The newly wed woman would sit alone in the bedchamber, forbidden to look at anyone or leave her seat on the ground (symbol of submissiveness and acknowledgment on the woman's part as being her husband's property). Misao chose a traditional marriage, but it doesn't mean she had to follow all the rules completely…

Err, sorry for no wedding night scenes… I can't do lemons! Thanks to the few who read and reviewed!

Anyone up for an epilogue?  


	12. Epilogue

Epilogue

Misao winced slightly as she felt Aoshi's grip on her hand tighten. Looking up to him lovingly, she whispered, "Are you ready, Aoshi?" 

Aoshi stiffened, his dark eyes blending into her light ones in sudden comprehension, "Aa."

"Good… I hoped the news wouldn't disappoint you."

"You have not yet disappointed me in any aspect." Misao couldn't help but smile at the rare compliment, closing her eyes contentedly. Silence enveloped the two as Misao rested against Aoshi, her loose hair tickling his bare chest and their hands linked—a year had passed, and they had not yet tired of each other's touch. Aoshi's even breaths soothed Misao into a warm state of drowsiness; she was slipping into the folds of sleep when Aoshi's voice brought her back to consciousness, "When did you know?"

"…When I realized that I've missed my monthlies for the second month in a row."

"Perhaps we should call Takani-sensei."

"Already? I'm only on my second month; I have about seven more to go—we should wait at least for another six."

"You should also ask Himura and his wife to visit."

"Hmm… good idea. Now Aoshi, I'm craving something."

Aoshi frowned slightly: did womanly cravings start that early into pregnancy? He couldn't see Misao's face, which held an expression of roguish anticipation as she continued wistfully, "I've felt like I've really wanted a kiss for the last few minutes." 

Aoshi smiled minutely, "Aa, I would be more than happy to oblige." Shifting upright, he rolled over rapidly, leaning over his wife in an instant with a consuming expression, his eyes raking over his wife's nude figure in unguarded admiration. Misao didn't even have a moment to react before Aoshi's mouth descended roughly onto hers, his kiss nearly crushing her. Waves of pleasure washed over her as she let out a moist sigh, letting Aoshi's tongue slip into her yielding mouth. Her breath was caught in her throat when she felt his hands on her body, her hands clenching onto his shoulders and drawing him closer to her as they performed an intimate ritual—a dance of the most sacred form.

Misao held onto the tightly woven rope before her tightly, the blood pooling between her legs. She grimaced: all this blood didn't seem right. Megumi had been correct—childbearing would be difficult for her, but she knew she and her child would live through this ordeal. At least she could feel the baby fighting to come out into the air—it encouraged her to think that the both of them were fighters, both battling to survive in the world together. Gritting her teeth together as she obeyed Kaoru and Megumi's set breathing pattern, Misao repressed the urge to scream. 

Aoshi stood immobile behind the sliding door, his fists clenched and eyes tightly shut. The silence was worse than anything—Misao was too stubborn for her own good. If she didn't make a noise of some sort, how was he to know if the labor was going well or going badly? Aoshi restrained himself from barging through the door—Megumi had expressly emphasized the importance of keeping the husband out of the labor room, and he knew the logic behind this idea, even if his heart protested separation from his wife in this crucial moment. A soothing hand settled on his shoulder: Himura. The small man gave him a fleeting smile, "Once, Misao jumped over a chasm she had no hopes of crossing. She made it out alive because of her burning desire to live only a life with you in it. In some ways, she has a strength that matches your own. Trust in her, Aoshi-dono." Aoshi nodded, turning from the doorway to face the window, watching the icicles hanging from the roof shed crystal drops onto the unblemished snow. 

Soft hands had awakened her. Misao struggled to open her heavy-lidded eyes—she felt murky, hazy and maimed. Warmth entered her body as she gathered her senses. Someone was washing her body carefully, tenderly. A bloody cloth in a basin came into view; large hands raised to wring the water out of another small cloth. Aoshi, absorbed with the task of cleansing his wife, had not noticed her awakening, and continued to clean her thighs gently. Misao smiled wearily, shifting her head to look to her right. Aoshi, noticing the sudden movement, looked up in surprise. Following his wife's gaze with fierce pride and throbbing love, settling on the crib where the results of Misao's labor lay. Aoshi faced his wife once more when she spoke abruptly, her voice startlingly clear, "So… if I remember correctly, there's not only one, but two?" 

I hope that was subtle enough, yet satisfying for those who wanted an epilogue. It seemed like I kinda picked up on the touchy-feelyness towards the end of this piece, eh? Ergh, sorry… it seems like sappiness won me over. Gah… maybe I'll rewrite the ending when I feel like I've got a better one in mind. Until then, keep on encouraging me by reading and reviewing my other stories. I greatly cherish insightful comments, although the small number of reviews did not discourage me… I had posted chapters 1-6 all at once on Ffnet, so I guess it just took readers a while to figure out that this story was there. By the way, did anyone catch the metaphor in there? 


End file.
